The passage beyond the Keeper’s arches grew tighter the farther Gilbert and Bip swam.
The walls pressed close, smooth stone etched with faint, wandering lines that glowed just enough to be seen. The water here felt slow, as though every movement had to be chosen carefully. Even Bip’s tail, usually a blur of enthusiasm, swished with uncharacteristic restraint.
“This reminds me of the coral maze back home,” Gilbert said quietly. “The one where you can’t rush, or you get stuck.”
Bip squeaked softly in agreement.
As they moved forward, the glow ahead flickered. Shadows stretched and shifted, not threatening, but confusing — reflections that didn’t quite line up with reality.
At one point, the passage split into overlapping corridors, each echoing faint sounds: distant laughter, rushing water, whispers that sounded almost like Gilbert’s own thoughts.
You could turn back.
You’re not ready.
Someone else would do this better.
Gilbert slowed, heart pounding.
“They sound like my worries,” he murmured.
The spiral stone in his pouch buzzed faintly, but this time Gilbert didn’t reach for it. Instead, he looked at Bip.
Bip stared at the false corridors, then deliberately turned his back on them and pointed forward — toward the dimmest, quietest stretch of the passage.
“The one that isn’t trying to convince me,” Gilbert said softly.
They swam on.
Behind them, the echoing paths faded, collapsing into harmless silence.